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slipper007 · 3 years

Text

I can't imagine the pain.

Word Count: 3,262

TW: child loss, grief and grieving, discussion of death. See AO3 for complete tags.

Special thanks to @angelfishofthelord and @shirtlesscastiel who both asked for a part 2, as well as @featherasscas , who's reblogged part 1 more times than I can count

Companion to this, + also on AO3. [Masterpost]

Castiel stayed on the ground, broken, for what felt like hours, lacking the strength to look away from the devastation of his grief.

He stayed there so long that the Winchesters gave up hope. They mumbled something about Chuck and the end of all things, of the ghosts that Cas’ total grief had obliterated and how they might not have been all that was released. Castiel didn’t care. He didn’t have it in him to, and maybe the Winchesters saw that. Dean tried to touch his shoulder, maybe even offer an apology, but Castiel shot him a look that ended the conversation they had been dancing around for years. They left him in that graveyard with what was left of his son.

He almost prayed, but what could an angel do to reverse God’s will? No, he needed to do something else. He was desperate enough to try anything he thought would work.

Bargaining. Maybe he could strike up another deal. Whatever the price was, he would pay it happily. He would give his life in a heartbeat, just like before, if it would bring Jack back.

He reached out to Death directly.

He felt Billie’s presence before he saw them and slowly turned as they offered a laid back “Hey.”

“Bring him back.”

“Can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both,” Billie replied. They raised a brow as Castiel drew his blade. “Killing me again? That seems a little redundant.”

“If you won’t bring him back then maybe your replacement will.”

“Everything has its time, Castiel and everything dies.”

“And it wasn’t his time! His story isn’t done!”

“God said otherwise.”

“You’re going to let God do your job? Kill Jack and wreck the order?”

“God isn’t wrecking anything. Every story has different endings. This was one.”

“Then change it.”

“It’s already happened. It can’t be undone.” Billie’s voice was gentler than Castiel expected when they continued. “It’s not fair, or kind, or right, but it’s life. You need to make your peace with that.”

“No.” Billie’s brows drew together and if Castiel didn’t know better, he would think that it was from pity. Even as he spoke, he felt the tip of his angel blade drop. “I can’t accept this, he can’t be...”

“He is. And nothing you do will change that, regardless of what your time with the Winchesters has taught you.”

Castiel felt the lurching ill sensation rise up again.

“What if I go to the Empty directly?”

“Then you die. It keeps both you and Jack. But you know how the Empty works.”

“I still won’t get to see him...say anything...”

Billie touched his shoulder, a rare gesture of remorse from Death incarcerate. “He’s gone, Castiel, but he can live on in you.”

Castiel didn’t answer, and Death left him to grieve.

Even as time ticked by, Castiel was at a loss for what to do. In the dust, he drew the Enochian sigil to create a portal to Heaven, paid it enough attention that for a moment he could pretend Jack was sitting in the truck playing on his phone.

Castiel almost called his brothers and sisters down to open the portal, to take both Jack and him from the Earth, to let them rest for the first time in years. He wanted Jack to know the peace that used to exist in Heaven, the safety of the place he had once called home. More than that, he wanted to be at peace, to quell the anguish and anger writhing in his chest. It would be easier to go back to proper angelhood, forget what it was to feel.

Emotions had never brought him anything but trouble. They’d lost him his family, his home, his friends, his life…

Still, his tongue wouldn’t speak the words to bring his siblings down. He remembered how they’d treated Jack, and him. The angels had manipulated Jack just as the Winchesters had, and they would do so again if given the chance.

Even dead, Jack could still be used as a weapon. His body harbored the remains of not only nephil grace, but also that of the archangel Michael. Those were both cosmic; they would endure longer than his body.

As much as it sickened him, Castiel realized a hard truth.

Not only was Jack unable to come back, but it wasn’t enough to simply lay him to rest. His body needed to be destroyed so completely that he could never be manipulated again.

He only knew one person he could even start to trust with something like that.

“Hello, tweetie pie,” Rowena answered. “Is this a social call?”

“No, I need your help.”

“Now as much as I’d like to, I’m busy. Tell the Winchesters—”

“This isn’t for them,” he said, words coming out harsher than intended. He took a breath and added a gentler, “Please, this is important.”

“More important than—”

“Yes. Can you meet me at...” Castiel faltered. The Bunker wasn’t an option, and he certainly wasn’t going to stay where he was, surrounded by death, destruction, and his son’s wings scorched into the earth. “Uh…”

“I’ll need some time to tie things up in Nevada. Could you perhaps meet me halfway?

“Yes.” Castiel breathed a sigh of relief. “In Colorado? Grand Junction?”

“Alright,” Rowena agreed. “Now tell me what it is you need so I can prepare.”

“I need you to help me burn a body.” He risked a glance to Jack, feeling bile rise up. “So completely that he can’t come back.”

“Dearie—”

“I can’t talk more; I’ll see you tomorrow,” Castiel blurted, hanging up before what little control he had over his emotions could slip.

The drive was even harder than watching him die.

He talked and played music, anything to avoid the screaming silence, the way Jack was growing cold and stiff beside him. It didn’t work. His mind still repeated the horrified knowledge of “this was your child,” a broken record he feared would never stop.

Neither of them would recover from this.

He arrived after Rowena and nearly cried as she offered him a smile in her prim and proper way and asked if Jack would be joining them or staying in the car.

He didn’t know what gave it away. The unnatural stillness and silence of the car, one that he’d grappled with for hundreds of miles, perhaps. Maybe it was a witch’s intuition, since she’d seen enough over the last several hundred years. Maybe it was because he couldn’t answer her, or even look her in the eyes.

“Oh,” was all she said before embracing him. He couldn’t return it. He couldn’t tear his mind from the hug he had given Jack in the graveyard, how he hadn’t hugged back, how he’d kneeled rather than fight, and how he’d died even when Dean couldn’t go through with it. How it felt to hold Jack, limp and soundless in his arms.

The dam broke, and all that pain and grief and anger nearly brought him to his knees.

Rowena saw it: how broken he was, how broken he’d always been. He didn’t know who he was anymore if he wasn’t a father or an angel, yet he was neither anymore. What was he supposed to do now?

Maybe she understood that. She had suffered the loss of a loved one, too. She knew what it was to watch the world die around her, to lose herself for a time.

When Castiel was able to collect himself, pull the broken shards of his being back together, Rowena asked something that almost tore him apart again.

“Dearie, are you sure you want to…”

“I can’t bring him back. I talked to Death, and I can’t bring him back,” Castiel said softly. “I can’t have someone take advantage of what’s… left.”

“But something so permanent…”

“I would do it myself,” he offered, “but I seem to have fallen.”

Rowena gave him a strange look, the likes of which he hadn’t received in years, so he explained.

“I felt it. Something in me breaking. The emotion growing stronger. I don’t know how to describe it… It felt like when the angels fell. The same kind of desperation.”

“My dear, you’re still an angel. You still have your powers.” She looked him up and down. “Maybe you’re not as powerful as you once were, and you’re a smidge weaker than last we saw each other, but you’re far from powerless.”

Castiel looked away, lost.

“Maybe you can’t do it because you don’t want to,” she offered gently.

“What I want is for him to come back. But he needs to be….” He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Rowena nodded, understanding.

They found somewhere private, somewhere quiet outside the city. The trees stood tall and proud and vibrantly alive. A felled one became the pyre.

Castiel placed Jack on it, still wrapped in the trenchcoat.

The flames that swallowed him were brilliantly red, orange, and gold like the ochre rocks on the horizon.

It took hours, even with the help of magic. Castiel stood by Jack’s side for all of it, even long after the embers had cooled and all that was left was a small pile of ash and smudges of soot. Rowena collected it up in a jar as the sun rose, and Castiel took it in his hands.

It never should have ended like this.

The day carried on as if Castiel’s world hadn’t ended hours ago. He was grateful to Rowena for what she had done, but even sitting in her kitchen he was too lost in grief to thank her.

Standing by a whistling teapot, she finally asked, “Would you like to talk about the wee boy?”

“It hurts too much.” Castiel bit into his lip, hard. What did it say about him, that he could hardly even say Jack’s name? Shame bubbled up, hatred of himself swift to follow.

“It hurts because of how much you loved him.”

“I still love him.”

“Yes.”

The pair fell silent for a long while and Rowena set a cup of hot tea in front of Cas before settling into her own seat.

“Rowena…”

“Yes, tweetie pie?”

“When did losing Oscar stop hurting?”

Rowena bowed her head, and Castiel knew the answer.

“It didn’t,” she finally said. “Just as losing Fergus hasn’t stopped hurting.”

Castiel’s instinct was right. This was something he would never recover from, would he?

“It’s a different kind of hurt, with time,” Rowena offered. “It stops being so keen. You survive and you try to carry on without them, because that’s what they would have wanted.” She stared deep into her tea. “You learn to talk about them, and to them, even though they’re gone.”

Castiel nodded and held his tea closer. He couldn’t see that happening, not with how much it hurt, but she was right: he would survive. With Jack gone, his deal would never come due. Happiness wouldn’t kill him because he would never feel it again.

Rowena offered him a place to stay for a few weeks, but Castiel declined. He couldn’t stay there, not where the earth was scorched and the air still smelled faintly of smoke. Instead, Castiel drove for hours, not paying much attention to where he was going until he found himself parked outside of the Bunker.

It wasn’t where he wanted to be, not by a longshot, but he had something he needed to do. The door creaked as loudly as it always had, and Castiel was halfway across the library before a voice called out to him.

“Cas.”

Dean.

“I’m here for his things. Then I’ll be on my way.”

“Cas, hey. Stop for a moment, would you?”

Castiel did.

“Look, alright.” Dean walked over until they could look each other in the eye. “I’m not proud of how everything went down. And I’ve given what you said some thought. You’re right. It is our fault, but it’s Chuck’s, too, man. You gotta see that.”

“What I see is that you’re finding any excuse you can to get the blame off yourself.”

Dean’s eyes darkened.

“Chuck has been toying with us—”

“No, you made the decision to kill him, just as I made the decision not to. You told me to get onboard or walk away, and I left you and Chuck both of my own choice. Because you taught me that people and families and love are worth fighting for, and I was going to fight for him!” Castiel tried to keep the waver out of his voice as tears brimmed in his eyes. “Chuck couldn’t have changed that even if he’d tried.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to, huh? You think of that? Maybe he wants us divided.”

“You should have thought about that before you tried to execute him in front of me.”

“Cas—”

“You had a choice and you made the wrong one.”

Castiel left him there in the library and locked himself in Jack’s room. Almost instantly, it proved to be too much, and he slumped down against the door, sobbing.

The room was holding its breath, waiting for Jack to come home. A half-read book sat on the desk, a few stray papers underneath. A pile of clothes waited patiently to be returned to a drawer. The nightstand was bare save for a pencil. One good deed….

Castiel packed it all away. He hated himself for destroying the illusion, for leaving the room as empty as his chest felt, but what he was waiting for would never happen. Jack would never walk through that door again. The decoder ring in the drawer would never be used. Everything had fallen into ruin.

He managed to get the first box into his truck with no issues, no run-ins or confrontations. The second box was smaller, and he rested it on a hip as he closed the bedroom door for the last time.

This time, he wasn’t so lucky. Dean watched him cross the room and quietly said, “You’re not the only one grieving him.”

“It’s not the same, Dean. You never felt his soul. You never took the time to know him: you spent your time trying to make up for wanting him dead. Well, you got what you wanted.”

Dean flinched at that, but Castiel didn’t care. His son was nothing but ash and a box and a half of belongings. Anger flared again.

“You think angels can’t feel.” He laughed bitterly. “Even though I’ve proven that wrong. Did you think killing him wouldn’t kill me, too? As if I haven’t given more for him than you could possibly imagine. As much as you’ve given for Sam. My life. My happiness… I signed away my future in a heartbeat so that he could come back and I would do it again. I tried to do it again.”

If only it would have worked.

“Wait, what?”

“I made a deal to save him. When I’m happy, the Empty will take me forever.”

Dean gaped at him in horror.

“Cas, what’ve you done?”

“What I had to. What any father would do. Don’t give me that look. You’ve done worse for Sam.”

“And it’s always come back to bite me in the ass.”

“Well, I haven’t been happy in years, so don’t worry about the deal.”

“You shouldn’t have made it in the first place.”

“Oh, so now only you get to make deals to save the people you love? Only you get to cheat death time and time again while the rest of us suffer?” Castiel looked at him incredulously, anger seeping through him. “Do you know how many brothers I’ve lost? Sisters? Friends? Now Jack. Why can’t I save them? Why should they stay dead when you and your brother have been raised so many times?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. We would have figured it out without making the deal!”

“We didn’t have the time! If I hadn’t made the deal I would have lost him forever, right then and there. I couldn’t stand by and watch him die!”

It would have killed him. And it had.

“We would have figured it out,” Dean maintained. “Like we always do!”

Castiel shook his head. “Then you figure it out. If you bring him back, I’ll be back, but until then…” Castiel looked around the wide expanse of the Bunker with a strange longing. This had never been home, but it could have been, just as his friendship with the Winchesters could have been more. He was leaving behind an almost.

“Jack’s dead. Chuck’s gone. You and Sam have each other. I think it’s time for me to move on.”

“Cas, wait.”

As angry and tired as he was—as they both were—Castiel wanted to. A decade of comradeship, of camaraderie and pining, did that, made him reluctant to leave. Then he remembered standing between Dean and Jack, realizing that if that gun went off, he’d lose them both. He knew now that he’d lost them both long before that.

“Goodbye, Dean.”

It was years before they saw each other again.

It took longer than Castiel could ever admit to find peace.

He still ached for Jack to come back, felt the pain in every drawn breath, but Rowena was right. Billie was right. The anger lessened and the pain dulled. He missed his son but Jack would have wanted him to try to move on. He would have wanted Cas to be happy, despite the deal still hanging over his head even if Castiel couldn’t see it ever coming to fruition now. He owed it to Jack to try to be happy.

And he would. He had to. No matter how much it hurt, even if he still wanted nothing more than to bring him back or follow him in death. Jack survived through him, in his memories and his love. He couldn’t let what was left of his son go like that.

He’d moved to Washington, made a home of where Jack had been born and Kelly had died. Where he had burned. It was a little too empty, full of broken promises and loss and regret, as if it, too, struggled to let go. One day it would. Another family would come and clean it out, fill this home with love as it always should have been. Children would run out to the sand, oblivious of the ash mixed in, while their parents painted over Kelly’s mural and took down the pale yellow curtains that had reminded Cas of honey.

One day, all memory of Jack and the world his parents had tried to give him would be gone. But it wouldn’t be today.

Castiel made his way outside, stood where the rift had first appeared. If he looked closely, he could still see the imprint of wings in the earth. This was where he and Kelly had both burned.

Cautiously, Castiel looked to the sky, the twinkling lights of stars against an unpolluted sky. Jack loved space. He would have loved it here, able to see the stars every night without fail.

It was time to let go.

Gently, Castiel let the ash catch in the breeze, wander everywhere it liked and more until it was gone. Jack was gone.

Castiel swallowed hard and tilted his head back up to the sky, to the light of a thousand stars. If he looked hard enough, he could see the golden twinkle of Jack’s grace reflecting back, his eyes glowing against a sea of blue.

“Hello, Jack.”

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